


Doors

by Thorne



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-13
Updated: 2010-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-07 05:39:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thorne/pseuds/Thorne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sephiroth has a schedule.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doors

**Author's Note:**

> Pretty gen, although there's always several gay elephants in the room if you look for them. Written for the prompt, "Sephiroth, Zack, roses in winter."

"Open!"

The finished reports had been stacked in his outgoing box. He'd locked his desk drawers. There were still files open on his computer, but he was rapidly whittling down the number.

"Open the door!"

He had a schedule and he kept to it.

"Open it or I'm kicking it in, and I have kicked in a _lot_ of doors in my life!"

He stopped typing for a moment and folded his hands together, leaning back in his chair. This was worth breaking the schedule for. "Try," he called out.

"Fine!"

The door sensor, recently programmed to instantaneously slide open when it sensed motion at a certain angle, speed, and height, worked admirably; Zack fell through the doorway with a squawk of belated realization and alarm, one leg still raised in front of him.

Sephiroth looked over the edge of his desk. "You know, I don't think I'd actually recognize you if you came through a door normally."

"Real fucking funny," Zack grumbled, and climbed to his feet. "Asshole. How long did that take you to program?"

"Long enough," he admitted, and then looked closer. "You brought flowers. How thoughtful. I generally require dinner and dancing as well, though."

Zack dropped the somewhat battered bouquet of roses unceremoniously on the desktop and lounged against the wall. "They were already outside your door, I was just bringing them in. If I was trying to get in your pants, I'd use something else. Shitload of alcohol, or something. That's how I got my roommate." He frowned. "At least I _think_ that's how I got him. There was a fight, I remember that."

"Oh?" Sephiroth said as he copied some of his files over. Sometimes he thought they multiplied overnight; he'd accuse Zack of it if he thought it was possible Zack could be getting into his computer.

"Yeah. It was a busy night. Had some drinks, had a fight, played some cards, think I might've done a pole dance at some point... Anyway, I woke up on top of him, under the pool table. I asked him if he wanted to move in after he got me home."

"He called you a taxi?" Sephiroth asked, eyes still on the screen. Just five more files.

"Nope. Wheelbarrow. I never did ask him where he managed to find a wheelbarrow in the middle of sector three."

"Fascinating," he said absently. Last file. God, would it never transfer? The icon flashed as the progress bar slowly filled.

"I bled on him," Zack mused. "I bled on him a _lot_."

Finished, and still on schedule. The computer whirred and ejected the disc; he closed off everything else and shut the computer down, anticipating the silence that came when all the electronics were turned off. It was so goddamn loud in the entire building, all sorts of sounds that were tolerable on their own but in frayed on his mind in combination. The electronic noises of computers humming, copiers whirring, the chime of doors and elevators as they opened and closed; all the noises that people could make, footsteps in the hall, coughing, a constant mutter of voices. It all blended together after a while, flesh and metal combining into a vast, living machine that voiced a relentless roar of white-noise sound all the time, creeping into the back of his _head_, pushing against the back of his _eyes_, fighting the rhythm of his pulse until it seemed like his own _blood_ was being forced to adapt and…

Zack was staring at him in concern, and Sephiroth realized he had been rubbing his temples instead of replying to... whatever it was they had been talking about.

"You okay?" Zack asked.

"I'm fine," he replied.

"You look like shit," Zack said candidly.

Sephiroth grunted and shoved at the roses with one hand. "Do you want these?"

"Seriously, you need to take a break every now and then," Zack said. "I mean, do you know what time it is? You're here at the asscrack of dawn and you don't leave until late. Do you even see daylight anymore?"

"This is Midgar," Sephiroth pointed out. "Daylight is negotiable in any case."

"Quit trying to change the subject. I'm wise to all your overworking, smartass comment-making, door-programming ways." Zack draped himself over the back of Sephiroth's chair. "My point is, you have made and broken thirty-seven consecutive promises to come watch the game at my place. A lesser man would think that you didn't ever intend to come and spend time with me."

"A more intelligent man. And I never promised." He gathered the roses together in a messy bundle, pushed back in his chair, and stood up. Zack had to hastily hop away before he got knocked over.

"You grunted," Zack said, following him to the door and throwing the finger to the sensor as he sidled through. "You did the 'not a definite no' grunt. I count those as promises."

"Go away."

"Promise to come or I'll sing."

"I'll hit you."

"I'll sing _showtunes_."

"I'll promote you. More responsibility, more paperwork."

"Just you try. I can get busted down five levels before lunch without breaking a sweat." Zack grinned at him at him, punched his shoulder. "Seriously, come on by my apartment. Have a beer, hang out for a while. We won't tell anyone that you do human things sometimes. We'll lie and say that you went home and ate broken glass and small live kittens for a while, then you practiced seeing how long you could hold your hand in a fire until you had to pull it out."

Sephiroth shrugged. He looked around the hallway and spotted a trashcan that hadn't been emptied yet. When he walked over to drop the roses in it, Zack tagged right along behind him, still talking.

"I mean, what else were you going to do tonight? Head to the gym, train like a bastard for a while even though you could already kill just about any person in this place with your little finger, shower, go back to your apartment, _maybe_ eat something-- I still can't figure out if you actually eat or not; I doubt like hell you jerk off-- go to sleep and then do it all over again?"

"Possibly, I would have read the newspaper somewhere along the line, but yes."

"No, that's where you're wrong. I expect to see you at my apartment in twenty minutes. You _will_ sit on my couch. You _will_ drink some kind of alcoholic beverage. You _will_ watch some kind of televised sporting event. You _will_ eat some kind of fried food. You _will_ have some kind of human contact and conversational exchange, however brief, that does not relate to paperwork or killing things." Zack hesitated, so briefly that it was barely noticeable, but he caught the flicker of some unknown emotion passing through Zack's expression. "You can meet my roommate, too. The whole thing will be relatively painless, I swear."

"Hmm," he said, unable to think of anything else. He was used to people wanting him for one reason or another; it was strange to be wanted so badly for such a trivial thing. "I'm throwing these away if you don't want them."

"The roses?" Zack took them. "You know, these probably cost some poor secretary her whole paycheck. Sure, I'll take them, but if you ever want real flowers, let me know and I'll hook you up with some. These're just--" He shook the bouquet; petals flew liberally. "--kind of unnatural."

"Whatever you say," Sephiroth said.

"Are you coming over?"

He grunted, caught Zack's eye, and gave up. "Maybe."

"Twenty minutes," Zack said seriously, smiled, and then went left through the door that led downstairs to the SOLDIER apartments. The other door went to the elevators that would take him back to his own apartment in the upper levels.

There were still petals all over the floor; blood-red drops against the lighter carpet. He reached down and picked one up, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger before bringing it to his nose. No scent, probably cultivated in a hothouse somewhere in Midgar's depths, fed on chemical nutrients and false sunlight. Grown out of season to someone else's schedule. Zack was right, it was unnatural.

For as long as he could remember, people had expected so much from him, and handled him thus accordingly. Lead an army, win a war. Defend a city, destroy a city. Devise a strategy, break an opponent.

Drink a beer. Meet a friend.

He stood at the corner of the hallway for a long time, thinking. Eventually, he started to walk.


End file.
